Feeling Alone
by MovePeonyMove
Summary: Allison feels skeptical about The Breakfast Club, and about Andy. (Andrew x Allison one shot)


Allison slams the car door shut, her eyes glued to the window and a stupid smile plastered on her face.

"Put on your seatbelt," her mother says with casual indifference. Allison purses her lips, adjusts the blue sweater around her shoulders. The click of the seatbelt is the only sound heard in the car's interior during the ride home.

She wonders whether her mother has noticed her new look, whether she noticed the blonde boy who she kissed in front of the school's entrance. Whether any of that mattered at all. And perhaps it didn't after all.

Perhaps nothing Allison did made any difference to her parents.

_So why should she bother? _ Has she let herself believe, in those last hours of detention, that things have changed? Has she let anyone tell her that she doesn't have to feel alone?

"No," she exclaims, flinging the blue sweater onto the ground as a dramatic gesture. Except there's nobody watching her. She doesn't have to play the role of a weirdo.

Because she's not, she's really not. She's just lonely.

"There's dinner on the table," her mother's voice calls, bringing Allison out of her reverie. She'd been thinking about Andy, and it's a mistake. Andy's deep-set blue eyes, boring into hers with such intensity that she can't breathe. His hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer. His lips-

But, it doesn't matter. Claire has said it so masterfully herself. That come Monday, they are all back to their places in the social hierarchy. And that means that Allison is back to being the school's nut job, and Andrew is back to being jock extraordinaire. Truly, there is no way around it. Allison shouldn't have even bothered.

But as she chews on the asparagus, slightly cold and rubbery, a hint of unexplainable sadness fills her. For a moment, it has seemed that the five strangers have learned that they were not so different. They had planted a seed of hope then, within each other. Within Allison. There would be no reaping for that seed.

And that Monday, as Allison arrives at the front steps of Shermer High, she resolves that she will not be the one ignored. Not this time. She'll weasel her way around the halls, like she always does, invisible.

And it nearly works, except at every corner walks, or stands, their hands in their pockets, a small reminder of Saturday. They're not laughing, or talking too much, eyes scanning their environments like paranoiacs. There's Claire, brushing her hair behind her ear as she watches to her friend gesticulate excitedly. Brian, who holds his books to his chest a little too tightly. Bender, who laughs obnoxiously at the bottom of the staircase, his friends cackling in his lead. And there's Andy – Andrew Clark – leaning on his locker, wearing his letterman jacket sans the patch. The patch that's lying in her trash bin at home.

Allison blows some stray hairs off her face, walks to her classes with her head down, eyes skimming through the crowd to make sure she doesn't bump into anybody she knows. Or knew, rather.

And she nearly manages it, hopping into her mother's car after class with a loud sigh of relief. As she slams the door shut, something catches her eye. There, on the top steps of the school's entrance, stands a blonde boy. His arms are hanging limply at his sides. It's Andy, and he's looking straight at her. Allison's heart stops beating for a moment, she quickly looks away. But in her peripheral vision, she sees him looking at her still, his mouth a tight line.

"Go," She squeaks, and her mother speeds off the school property. Allison doesn't dare look through the back car window, because if she looks back, she'll turn to stone.

Her nails are mare stubs by that evening. She gnaws on them, his disappointed expression flashing before her eyes each time she reminds herself that she doesn't care. But the mantra is pointless because she does care, possibly too much.

So while her parents watch the evening news downstairs, she draws a bath, fragrant with fancy bath oils and salts her mother keeps in the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet. She takes off layers upon layers of clothes, stripping and throwing them like garlands across the sink, toilet, floor. Then, submerging herself under the water, soft, but almost scalding to her skin, she feels at ease. Under the water everything is slow. Sounds are dulled and her body feels light, hair fanning around her face.

But there's a disturbance above the surface, Allison can feel it. She considers not pulling herself out of the water, ignoring the blurry shape of her mother above her. But she can't hold her breath much longer.

"Allison," her mother calls.

She rises out of the water with a splash, hair sticking to her face, water slowly dripping out of her ears.

"Stop with this foolishness," her mother says, surveying the bathroom. "Someone's on the phone for you."

Allison nods, waits until her mother leaves the bathroom to wrap herself up in a terry bathrobe. The change in temperature as she leaves the bathtub to drain, sends shivers down her spine.

She looks at the phone. Nobody ever really calls Allison. She wonders whether it's a sick joke.

"Hello?" she says, pressing the receiver to her ear. There's heavy breathing on the other end.

"Hi," a voice says abruptly. "It's Andrew."

Allison gulps, a weight falling into the pit of her stomach. She could be sick.

"What do you want?" She says, quickly and defensively, her eyes darting to the blue sweater lying on the floor.

"Why didn't I see you at school?"

"You tell me."

"I was looking for you," he says, frustration seeping into his voice. "Everyone was."

"Really." Allison says.

"We all sneaked out for lunch,"

"Well isn't that swell."

Andrew lets out a deep sigh. "Bender and I came up with a plan-"

"Why did you call?" Allison cuts him off, demanding. Her lips quiver.

"Because I don't want you to think you're not a part of the plan. I couldn't find you at school."

"No."

"Fine," he says. "Because I'm scared that you think I don't like you. You avoided me."

She remains silent, but her heart beats fast against her chest. She really could be sick.

"Saturday wasn't just a fluke, okay? I have serious intentions."

"Okay," she says finally.

"I don't want to lose this."

"Yeah," she whispers. "Me neither."

For the next couple of hours at least, Allison's self-deprecating thoughts float away. She lies in bed, hair damp from the bath, wearing the blue sweater that she picked off the floor. It smells like him, a mixture of musk and something sweet. It makes Allison crave sugar, lots of it. Maybe something else also.

She falls asleep like this, huddled against her pillows and covers, legs pressed against her chest. In the morning, she's awakened by a loud knock on her bedroom door.

"I'm coming in," a familiar voice calls, and the door opens to reveal a very prim Claire. She furrows her brow at Allison, rolls her eyes. "Adorable."

Allison sits upright, eyes heavy with sleep. "What are you doing here?" She asks skeptically.

"To help you get ready for school," Claire says. "Obviously."

"Why would I need help to get to school?"

Claire smacks her lips irritably. "Did you know your mother is seriously cold?" She says instead.

Allison smiles, despite herself.

Then comes round two of the makeover series, except this time, there's less white blouses and floral headbands. There's more "black shit", more sneakers and a pair of blue high wasted jeans. Maybe a stretched out black cardigan too, when Claire's not looking.

"We're gonna be late for class if you keep fiddling with this crap," Allison notes as Claire raids her jewelry stash.

"Why do you never wear any of this?"

"Because they were all mindless gifts from my parents?"

Claire nods, dropping her idea of accessorizing all together. Allison might be willing to tweak things here and there, look more "presentable" if you will, but she wouldn't let Claire make her something she is not. And she isn't a pretty, preppy girl. That's reserved for Claire and her popular friends.

But she still wants to be called pretty, still grins and blushes when she sees Andy down the hall, looking at her with a sparkle in his eye and a timid smile.

And she still lets him tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, lets his hand travel down her neck and rest on her shoulder when he leans in to kiss her. And she almost believes again, in that moment, that she doesn't have to feel alone.

**A/N: I was feeling nostalgic and watched The Breakfast Club the other day. Needless to say, it has been following me around since so I sat down to write this one-shot. I hope you enjoyed reading and if you did, leave me a review! **


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